


The Finer Points of French

by within_a_dream



Category: Benjamin January Mysteries - Barbara Hambly
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-07 22:27:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11633208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/within_a_dream/pseuds/within_a_dream
Summary: A knock at the door one summer night brings Benjamin January more than he expected.Set betweenFree Man of ColorandFever Season.





	The Finer Points of French

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lavode](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavode/gifts).



January nearly hadn’t opened the door. Strangers pounding at the door wasn’t terribly common on Rue Burgundy, but after the adventures of his first few months back in New Orleans, he was perfectly prepared to put his pillow over his head and fall back asleep. Until, that is, he heard a familiar voice calling out his name.

Abishag Shaw was leaning heavily on the wall when January answered his knocks.

“Sorry to wake you, Maestro,” he said, light tone not quite managing to cover up his pain. “Found myself in a spot of trouble, and you were close.”

When he didn’t come inside, January stepped out and looked him over, noticing the way he favored his right leg. “Is it the sort of trouble that might follow you here?”

Shaw shook his head. “Left ‘em behind at the docks.”

January offered an arm, and Shaw clung to it, stumbling into the entryway. He’d initially thought to take Shaw to a bed, but after seeing his attempts at walking, decided it would be best to conduct his examination in the parlor. “They hurt your leg?”

“Prob’ly broken.” Shaw slid to a seat on the floor, face tight. “Left my wallet at home, but if’n I could persuade you to examine me, I’d pay your fee plus troubles for waking you.”

“I don’t charge friends.” It came out before January had the chance to consider if he and Shaw _were_ friends. The man had been fair during his investigation of Angelique’s murder, not to mention saving January’s life, but a white man’s fondness for justice might not extend to considering a man of color his friend.

“Lucky for me I found my way to your house, then.” Shaw rolled up his pantleg, revealing a swollen and bruised shin.

January bent down. “This will hurt.” Palpating the limb revealed, as they’d both suspected, a simple break, easy enough to treat. More surprising was Shaw’s stillness during the examination, a tightness at the corners of his mouth the only sign he’d felt January’s touch at all. “I’ll fetch bandages and a splint, and it should recover well on its own.”

Shaw propped himself up on his arms, wincing a bit at the movement. “And then I’ll be on my way. Wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“You’re staying the night, of course! You need at least a day off of that leg.” It wasn’t only January the doctor who wanted Shaw to stay, although he was loath to examine the less professional stirring in his chest. “If you think you can manage the stairs with my help, you’re welcome to the bed.”

Shaw shook his head. “Can’t put you to that much trouble.”

“I’m tired enough from the shifts at the hospital that I could fall asleep standing,” January said. “It won’t make a difference to me where I rest my head, and your leg needs to be elevated.”

Shaw must have sensed January’s unwillingness to take no for an answer, for he gave a resigned tilt of his head and allowed January to help him to his feet. Or foot, as the case may be, for he had to lean heavily on January and hop along on his uninjured leg to make it across the parlor, much less up the stairs. By the time they reached January’s bedroom, Shaw’s breath came fast and ragged, and he laid his head on January’s shoulder, seeming fit to fall over. But it seemed more than a gesture forced by exhaustion, and January was sure it wasn’t just his loneliness imbuing the moment with intimacy.

“Thank you, for sharing your bed.” Shaw had switched to French, his accent thick and faltering. Still, January was sure that neither the innuendo nor the implications of the formal ‘you’ had escaped his notice.

“The least I could do for a friend such as you.” Even in Paris, January would never have imagined that he would _tutoyer_ a white man, and a police officer at that. But he was certain that that this conversation was more than just an ignorance of the finer points of French.

If Shaw’s grin at the words hadn’t confirmed his suspicion, the kiss pressed to the corner of his mouth certainly did. January turned his head to meet Shaw’s lips full-on, only pulling back when the quiver in Shaw’s leg grew to such a frequency that January worried it would give out under him.

He helped Shaw to the bed, careful to avoid jostling his injured leg. “I hate to interrupt what you’ve planned for the night, but I do still need to splint the break.”

“Night’s young, ain’t it?” The pain barely touched the edges of Shaw’s grin, and January felt a pang of regret at having to stop.

January retrieved his medical kit from beneath the bed and began to wind a bandage around Shaw’s leg, murmuring apologies at each of his bitten-back cries of pain. A few wooden splints and a stack of pillows later, Shaw’s leg was propped up and as stable as it would be. He’d intended to situate Shaw in the middle of his (rather small) bed, but the man gave him a look.

“Where’re you plannin’ on sleeping?” At January’s protests, Shaw shook his head. “I’ve shared some mighty small beds, and I ain’t planning on leaving you on your own floor now we’ve established that neither of us is opposed to a bit of closeness.”

January sighed and gently moved the pillows to the edge of the bed. “It is my professional opinion that a night alone in bed would be beneficial to the healing process.”

Shaw cocked an eyebrow. “And your personal opinion?”

January answered him by laying carefully on the right side of the bed and pressing another kiss to his lips. Then a vision of his mother came to him, unbidden, staring reproachfully down at him. He didn’t quite manage to catch his laugh before Shaw noticed.

“I was only thinking, you’re lucky my mother has decamped for the summer,” he said by way of explanation. “She would never have let you in the door, much less into the bedroom.”

“Good for both of us she’s gone, then.” January would never have expected to find that smile so endearing.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t been lying about being tired enough to fall asleep standing, and it wasn’t long before January was dozing off despite himself. He slipped out early the next morning, Shaw still asleep in his bed. It was a fine thing to wake up to, Shaw’s sharp angles somewhat smoothed out by sleep, and the pain wiped from his face. January hated to go, but the fever season didn’t relent for lovers’ flings.

When he returned that night, his bed was empty, but there was a note near the headboard in Shaw’s unpracticed hand. It held an address, nothing else, but the promise was implicit in the words. Perhaps, when autumn fell and the fever retreated once again, January could find his way there.

**Author's Note:**

> As may be obvious, I know little about modern medical care and even less about 19th century treatments. [This surgical manual](https://archive.org/details/synopsisofmodern00bost) tells me that for simple fractures, splints worked the same in January's time as they do today, so hopefully I haven't messed up _too_ badly!
> 
>  _Tutoyer_ is the French verb for using the informal 'you' on someone.


End file.
